


Wingman

by PinkToby



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail and Hannibal are total bros, Fluff, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Murder Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 00:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3337346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkToby/pseuds/PinkToby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal gets ready for a date with Will-- only to have Abigail foil his fashion plans.</p><p>(For bansheegrahamtao, one of the winners of the Mean-Cannibals 5K Follower Giveaway)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wingman

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like it! :)

              “You are _not_ leaving the house dressed like that.”

              “I beg your pardon?”

               “You heard me.  I’m not letting you step foot out of this room while you still have that… _ridiculous_ outfit on!”

               “You can’t tell me what to do.  I’m old enough to make my own decisions…”

_Eye roll._

               “Hannibal.”

               “Abigail.”

               Abigail huffs a sigh and crosses her arms across her chest.

               “You’re acting like a child.”

               “I am not,” Hannibal replies, straightening his tie in the mirror before turning around to face his sour-faced ward, “I happen to think I look very handsome.”

               “That’s not the point,” Abigail crosses the room to stand next to Hannibal, and even as she appears to grow shorter with each step forward, she’s just as fierce as before.  “Will’s taking you to the drive-ins, not the opera.”

               “I’m well aware of where we are headed this evening,” Hannibal grits through his teeth.

               “Then what’s with the suit?”

               “I always wear suits,” Hannibal hums, fiddling with his pocket square, “They suit me.”

               “Oh my God, Hannibal, did you _really_ just—?”  Abigail smacks a hand against her head, “No, no, forget about it.  I’m not doing this right now.  Your date is in…like fifteen minutes, and I can’t in good conscience let you wear a pink-and-white suit to a drive-in movie.”

               “You’re right, you can’t let me wear a pink-and-white suit to a drive-in movie,” Hannibal concedes, “but you _can_ let me wear this off-white-and- _lilac_ suit to a drive-in movie.  It can be hard to see in certain light, but if you look at the smaller vertical lines-“

               “If I look at the smaller vertical lines, you’ll still look like Jay Gatsby, and it’ll _still_ inappropriate for where you’re going.”  She allows him a small quirk of a smile, “Come on, there has to be a pair of jeans in your closet somewhere…”

               She moves surprisingly fast, steps hurried but still slinking, dainty, and Hannibal resolves to let her go.  At the very least, it’d be interesting to see what she finds…

               “It’s like _Braveheart_ in here!” Abigail shouts from the depths of his cavernous wardrobe, “Seriously, how much plaid does one man need?”

               “Abigail…”

               “Wait, hold on, I think I may have found the door to Narnia…”

               Hannibal rubs his temples in small circular motions of his fingers.  This is a mistake.  He shouldn’t let her traipse about in his meticulously organized closet, hangers screeching, shirts wrinkling…

               “Please,” Hannibal chokes out, “please be careful with my suits-“

               Abigail snorts.

               “Don’t worry,” she calls out, “nothing will happen to your _precious children_.”

               “Wait,” Hannibal says, “What if I wore the dark brown suit with the blue-“

               “Nope.  No suits.”

               “But-“

               “Alright, let’s put it this way," Abigail saunters out of the closet with an armful of clothes, “Do you _really_ want to be dealing with a tie and a waistcoat if you’re trying to get it on with your boyfriend in the back seat?”

               Hannibal gasps.

               “Why, I never-“

               “Save it for someone who’ll believe you,” Abigail says with a smug grin, “Look, I’ve got your best interest in mind.  There’s an awful lot of dog hair in Will’s car, even if he vacuums.  Enough to get permanently embedded in, say… _a plaid wool suit jacket_.”

               Hannibal hums lowly. 

               “I hadn’t considered that angle.”

               “Yeah, exactly,” Abigail hands him the pile of clothes, “Put these on and then we’ll talk more.”

               Lips turned down into a slight frown, Hannibal takes the pile— _quickly, before she lets them wrinkle in her arms_ —and sets it down on his bed.   Abigail’s arms return to their crossed position and her foot taps impatiently.

               “Do you intend to watch?” 

               “Do you intend to stop being such a prima donna?”  Abigail rolls her eyes and sits down on the edge of the bed, her back turned, “That better?”

               “Marginally.”

               “Oh, get over yourself.    We’ve cut up corpses together.  _Naked_ corpses.  Seeing a bit of your exposed thigh isn’t going to phase me,” A pause, “ _Unless it’s going to be more than a thigh, if you know what I mean_ …”

               “I can’t believe you’d be so vulgar as to suggest such a thing,” Hannibal scoffs.  He lays his nectie out along the bed to be properly stored later. 

               “I can’t believe you’re not even _close_ to ready yet,” Abigail retorts, “Come on, you don’t even need to change your shirt—just swap the pants out and pull on that sweater and you’ll be fine.”

               “ _Fine_ is not good enough.” Hannibal says, more to himself than Abigail.  He’s doffed his waistcoat and is now buttoning a black sweater vest up over his subtly-lilac shirt, “I want to look nice.”

               “And you _will_ look nice.  Trust me, Will’s jaw is gonna hit the floor when he sees you.”

               “Do you really think so?”

               “Yeah, especially if you do that thing where you roll up your sleeves and show off those forearms.  Will _still_ talks about that time you jumped into the back of an ambulance, rolled up your sleeves, and saved that guy’s kidney or whatever.”

               “Does he really?”  Hannibal can’t help but smile as he slides a pair of previously-unworn jeans up his legs, “I thought he had forgotten, with the encephalitis…”

               “I _wish_ he had, because then I could finally stop hearing about how you ‘ _sprung into action,’_ and ‘ _threw off your coat so you could bravely save that man’s life.’_ It was cool the first ten times,” Abigail recounts with a sigh, “but the next hundred?  Not so much.”

               Hannibal huffs out a nearly-inaudible laugh as he finishes rolling up his second sleeve. Does this mean Will’s been harboring affectionate feelings for him all this time?  The thought of a begrudgingly love-struck Will Graham warms his heart.

               “Alright then, fashion consultant” Hannibal says, “tell me how I look.”

               As soon as Abigail turns around, she can’t help but smile at her handiwork.  She’s right—Will Graham is going to _lose his mind_ (again?) when he sees Hannibal. 

               “ _Much_ better.  Do a spin, let me get the full effect.”

               It’s hard, but Hannibal manages to avoid rolling his eyes and slowly begins turning counterclockwise to be scrutinized. 

               “Very nice, yes, lookin’ good…  _Oh my God_ ,” she gasps, “I _knew_ it!  I _knew_ you had a butt underneath all those layers!  Oh man, Will isn’t gonna be able to keep his paws off you!”

               Hannibal smirks and walks over to the full-length mirror just outside his closet.  He has to admit, Abigail has good taste.  He manages to look refined while still maintaining an air of casual, not to mention the fact that his forearms really _do_ look nice with the rolled-up sleeves. 

               “This will do,” He simply says, straightening his vest, “You did a fine job, Abigail.”

               “I know,” she chirps, “Now, for the final touch…”

               Standing on her tiptoes, Abigail rests one hand on his shoulder so she can use to other to muss up his hair so a few strands fall down to frame his face.  Hannibal immediately frowns.

               “Abigail, please-“

               “There,” she says, “ _Now_ you’re ready to go.” 

               “I am most certainly _not_ ready to go,” Hannibal sighs in frustration, “thanks to your _assault_ on my head I now need to—“

               _DING-DONG!_

               “No time for that now,” Abigail shouts as she scurries from the room and downstairs to answer the door, “Dream boy is already here to pick you up!”

               Hannibal curses under his breath.  He’ll just have to make do and hope Will doesn’t find him too unkempt.  It’s not like Will has the most keen fashion sense...  And besides, it’ll be dark for most of the date anyways, so maybe it won’t be that bad? 

               There’s only one way to find out.

               When Hannibal emerges from his bedroom and makes his way to the top of the stairs, the first thing he sees is Abigail and Will engaging in some kind of conversation, voices so low and hushed that even his sharp hearing can’t quite pick up what is being said.  How annoying.  Still, Hannibal proceeds down the stairs with all the grace and confidence he usually emulates. 

               It takes until Hannibal is halfway down the stairs for Will to look up, but when he finally does, it’s completely worth the wait.

               “Hannibal…” He gasps, jaw slack and eyes wide.  A blush begins to bloom on his cheeks and he wrings his hands together.  Behind him, Abigail winks—she knows she’s done a good job, and there’s no doubt that Hannibal will hear her gloat about it over breakfast tomorrow morning.

               “Hello, Will.” 

               “You…you look, uh…”  It’s terribly endearing, hearing Will fumble over a simple compliment, always so terribly afraid of saying the wrong thing.

               Hannibal smiles at his attempt.

               “Thank you.  Just let me get my wallet and we’ll leave…”

               “Already got it!” Abigail interjects, holding it out for Hannibal to take.  There’s something about it that seems _off_ —the gesture itself, the way her lips try not to curl into a smug smile when he takes the wallet from her hand.   

               “Thank you, Abigail.  You’ve been quite helpful today.”

               “No problem.”  She stifles a giggle, and Hannibal can’t help but find it suspicious, “Make sure you have him back by 11... _tomorrow_.”

               Hannibal shakes his head.  That girl really _is_ a handful.

              

* * *

 

               “…Since you insisted upon driving tonight, it’s only fair that I pay,” Hannibal says, reaching into his back pocket.

               “Fine, but I’m buying snacks.”

               “We’ll see about that…”  Hannibal mumbles playfully.  He unfolds his wallet, reaches in, and pulls out a crisp twenty dollar bill to hand to the attendant.

               He realizes, a heartbeat too late, that what he has in between his index and middle fingers is definitely _not_ money.  At all.

               “Uh, Hannibal…”

               Hannibal quickly tries to stuff the foil-packaged condom (‘lubricated _and_ textured for a more intense experience!’) back into his wallet, only to find two more nestled snugly in front of his money and behind his driver’s license.  On the other side, behind various credit cards, are three packets of lubricant Hannibal couldn’t bring himself to examine further.

               “Will, I…”    

               Before he can string together a coherent apology, Will bursts out laughing. 

               “Hannibal, I…”  He pants between guffaws, “Oh my God, that’s…that was _priceless_!”

               “No,” Hannibal sighs, “That was Abigail.  I knew she was up to something…”

               Luckily, they aren’t at the window to pay when Hannibal’s blunder takes place, so the incident remains between the two of them—it’s certainly easier to recover his dignity, for Hannibal. 

               The laughter dies down and Will hands the money over to the attendant, then they’re searching the aisles for a perfect spot to park.

               “You know…”  Will says, “Abigail only has your best interests at heart.  As…inappropriate as her actions may seem, it’s almost thoughtful in a way.”

               “I suppose we can assume that she approves of our relationship,” Hannibal muses, “I’m sorry if that…incident made you uncomfortable.  I do not have any expectations of intimacy tonight.”

               “Well, Doctor Lecter, that’s a damn shame,” Will says, pulling into a space towards the back and off to the side—still close enough to enjoy the film, but far enough away from anyone else that they’ll be semi-alone. 

               “And why is that?”

               “You see, there’s an intermission,” Will puts a hand over Hannibal’s, “About half an hour between features.”

               “Is there really?” 

               “Yeah…and, I don’t know about you, but I don’t like sitting for long periods of time without moving around a bit.  And I just cleaned out the back of my car, vacuumed it and everything, just for this date.”

               “It would be a shame for me not to properly appreciate your hard work,” Hannibal laces their fingers together, a devil’s smile on his face.  Will bit his bottom lip and blushed.

               Hannibal would have to thank Abigail when he got home. 

**Author's Note:**

> come hit me up at mean-cannibals.tumblr.com


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